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"But could have, Jenny, could have, only that spoils the fun. Best to lead them on a little and stop short of
that, eh? You said so, you know, when I came out."
"And was not the advice good ?"
"Yes, I think so."
"Well, I declare, Dolly, you are going to sleep."
"I am very tired; only forty winks. Is there time?"
"Plenty, my darling," and as Jenny said so Dolly buried her face in the great sofa cushions, and composed herself to enjoy her siesta. "Don't trouble about thinking of waking, I will call you in time," added Jenny, taking up one of the latest French novels, which she had smuggled into Westbury Lodge without Walter's knowledge, for Walter had vowed many a time that he would no more think of having an objectionable, fast, immoral book in his house, than he would think of inviting a bad lot to dinner. But what was the good of being able to read French with facility, coupled with possessing a taste for racy fiction without going to the fountain head for it? Not that Jenny understood half that was insinuated or set forth in the direction Walter denounced, and she hated to have anything like a scene with the dear fellow; so she deceived him a little, "not in any serious way, don't you know?" as she explained to Dolly, but just to protect both Walter and herself from scenes. In the same way she occasionally permitted what Society butterflies termed tributes to her beauty, in the way of a little flirtation, which she did not mention to Walter because she did not want him to be "punching men's heads or calling them out, don't you know?" She had with these little shortcomings of Eve all the other good qualities, and the historian is not disposed to quarrel with her, the more so that she always strove to make herself attractive and interesting in the eyes of her husband, for whom she had a real sentiment of love and respect, except once in a way when he had a preaching fit
